


gone soft as soil

by French Army Syphilis Epidemic 1495 (nagia)



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Gargoyles (Cartoon)
Genre: Crossover Conversations, Gen, written at the request of the wife's friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24085003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagia/pseuds/French%20Army%20Syphilis%20Epidemic%201495
Summary: It is not the first time magic has sent Hudson to a new world, but he's grateful that, in essence, this one isn't unlike the world he was young in.  Oh, the trappings are different, silk and paper and straw all seeming worlds apart from the stone and thatch he'd known once, a thousand years ago.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	gone soft as soil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merfilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/gifts).



It is not the first time magic has sent Hudson to a new world, but he's grateful that, in essence, this one isn't unlike the world he was young in. Oh, the trappings are different, silk and paper and straw all seeming worlds apart from the stone and thatch he'd known once, a thousand years ago.

The tea smells almost familiar. Ripe and floral -- very like, but softer than the herbal teas Broadway sometimes brings home from the detective's apartment. He sips at it and wonders how a human tastes anything at all in the hot water, so subtle are its flavors. 

"There can be no debt," he says, not delicate but leaning lightly on the words, because these are ones to be careful with. He's too old a soldier to trifle with debt.

The man across from him -- human, aging, his voice raspy and yet serene -- nods, and agrees, "It is no debt. It is one of life's great pleasures, to share tea with a fascinating stranger."

"You aren't curious how I got here? Or how we understand each other?"

The human hides a smile behind his teacup. "I am curious about both. But I see no use in badgering you for answers you are no likelier than I to possess, when there is a fine orchis-jasmine tea to be drunk." He takes another sip, then leans just slightly forward to lift a small, long-stemmed tea-urn and pour more first into Hudson's cup and then his own.

The posture of a soldier. A proper one, disciplined, like the legions of Rome, not one of the farmers with pitchforks and threshing tools whom the lords of Castle Wyvern had thrown at the Norsemen like meat to dogs.

The posture of a soldier, and a sentiment Hudson can get behind.

"I'm too old to be doing all this over again. I got used to the world I woke up in. It had comfortable chairs and television," he says, sighing. "I've gone soft."

The old human nods, but then he muses, "But we should all hope to grow old and soft. It's an unlooked-for blessing, to be soft as the soil where the crops grow. To become used to things, to learn to love the world as it is, is what makes them worth protecting. Life, and death, and life again."

Hudson laughs, an old, creaking, hacking sound. It's brittle and rheumy, like his aging lungs. "Spoken like a man who's never tilled a field."

"No," the old man agrees, "but I'm not wrong."

"No. Not enough grow old."

They sit in silence, and the heat of the steam carries the scent of tea, and dust, and quiet. A new world, but perhaps one Hudson won't mind, until he can return to his clan.


End file.
